Eloquent in Transition
by MiraMizu15
Summary: For the first time, Lovino and Antonio act on a love centuries in the making. All it takes is one moment for the scales to tip in their favor. /canon universe/


**::A/N:: Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia**

**This story was meant to represent the easy transition between friend and lover for people as old as the nations (though honestly, even I can't lie and call it anything other than porn without plot). Top!Romano.**

**A valentine for dame-mas-gaby on tumblr, whose art I positively adore.**

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Antonio was grateful to have remembered his key, despite nearly forgetting it on his way out the door. Breaking into Lovino's apartment was a borderline impossible feat; the old, Italian lock was an unyielding deadbolt, and Master of the Castle Lovino Vargas had been known to leave the Spaniard out in the drafty hallway. Even with his key, Antonio was forced to throw his weight against the wood and jimmy the sticky brass. The building was of Rome, every stone imbued with ancient history, but Lovino's laziness was shining through in the details. Oiling the lock might make everyone's life a little easier.

Eventually the door gave.

Stepping inside, a light breeze from the hallway ruffled his already messy hair. He slipped the priceless key into his front pocket of his jacket lest he forget it, or god forbid, _lose it_ in the lair of the beast. It had been enough of an ordeal to acquire in the first place.

Antonio kicked off his new boots (it had felt like a new-shoes-new-road kind of day) and left them by the shoe tray, painfully untidy next to three perfectly polished and orderly pairs of Italian dress shoes (pointed toes and inch-thick heels). Antonio would be yelled at later for that little bit of carelessness, but he always got yelled at and he was always careless, and it just wouldn't be the same if he wasn't.

Plus, he was already going to get yelled at for arriving uninvited and unannounced. On a scale of one to ten, Antonio was expecting an explosion of ten-thousand because if there was one thing Lovino Vargas hated, it was spontaneity. This fact alone ought to have worked tirelessly against their relationship, but for some reason, Antonio's improvisation and Lovino's hard-hacked scheduling balanced each other out perfectly.

That didn't mean Antonio didn't get laid into every time he dropped by unannounced (over the decades he'd been on the receiving end of many a malcontented monologue), but as Antonio tiptoed down the narrow halls looking for his long-time friend and former charge, he couldn't bring himself to mind. It was as much a part of their clockwork as sun-baked tomato fields or lazy evenings topped with a rich glass of Secastilla.

Even if days spent in Antonio's country were a familiar breath of fresh air, he _loved _visiting Lovino's apartment in Rome, and it couldn't be more different from the home they had once shared as boss and henchman. That was probably _why _Antonio was so fond of it, though. Here in the world of multi-tenant living, Antonio could forge memories that weren't so tainted by absence and tears. Alone in his grand countryside mansion, Antonio was haunted by the phantom sounds of tiny feet and violent rows, the fleeting ghosts of great feasts and blood splattered floors.

In the modern Roman apartment they had only forged good memories, new memories. Their dynamic was completely transformed, closer than it had ever been. They spoke without words and basked in warmth that only came from company aged like fine wine.

The catalyst of their modern era was this very apartment. It was one and a half floors; the lower level was as expansive as it was grand (Lovino had once told Antonio exactly how expansive, but he had been too enamored by the sheen of sweat on Lovino's throat to pay much attention to the number). The furniture was stately and timeless, and Antonio knew it had been a part of Lovino's home since the beginning. Money was tight these days, but the Italian brothers were more frugal than they let on. Lovino knew how to keep things in good shape, something Antonio supposed he must have picked up simply to spite years of jerky limbs and butter fingers.

If the first floor was beautiful, then the loft that served as Lovino's bedroom was magnificent. Just the touch of contemporary Europe that Lovino chose to compliment his ageless tastes, the arching windows captured the pulse of Rome. Antonio had always dreamt of sleeping there beside Lovino, the incandescent moon illuminating the planes of his hips-

Antonio doggedly chased such fairy-tale thoughts from his head. He always had to do that these days, shake away the dirty, sinful, blessed snatches of Lovino relentlessly dancing behind his eyelids or in his morning coffee. He was tainted and tormented by thoughts that were naked and wanting, yet he would willingly throw his neck across the holy altar for them … Or, whatever it was the Vatican did to punish sin these days. The ways of his country's faith were becoming dated to him. Several hundred years dated.

But so it goes.

Sighing, he peeked into the kitchen, and upon seeing it empty, he stole quietly into the living room. This was the reason he always arrived unannounced. He was forever intent on catching Lovino in the act of doing something mundane. The Italian erected a blustering façade around anyone and everyone, but Antonio just liked to see his pinched eyebrows when he read the laundry soap instructions, the coffee stain on his shirt after a rough night at work, his butt in the air as he reached into the back of the dishwasher (well… maybe that last one a little more than the rest). Those were the things Antonio coveted, and he felt like a great adventurer when he sought after them.

Finally, in the study, he stumbled upon his golden treasure, and the sight only struck him with happiness. Lovino was asleep, sprawled against the foot of a dark couch, one arm draped over the center seat, legs crooked on the floor. His dress shirt was half-way unbuttoned, the top flaps like curtains framing his lean chest in the dappled evening light. His socks and shoes were piled beside him; the fly and zipper of his slacks were wide open. Antonio noted with a fond grin the pile of work documents spilling onto the Oriental rug and the little line of drool on his chin.

Antonio slipped off his own jacket, tossing it into the palm of an upholstered chair as he walked by, eyes only for Lovino. He was so beautiful, the way his jaw jutted to the side, how his hands embodied the shadows of angry fists, fingers of his left hand half-clenched against his leg. His face was just as vexed as normal, all chasmal lines flowing into thick brows and puckered lips while his dream world tried to explain the ineffable to his mind.

Bending at the knees and sitting like some great bird, Antonio shuffled the papers from the floor into a neat pile, hoping absently that their order hadn't been ruined in their cascading fall from Lovino's lap. (He also noticed the neat page numbers in the bottom right corner, but to order them thus seemed like a little too much dedication for this balmy evening). Antonio's fingers smoothed the clean white reports once, absorbing the title: _Fiscal Summaries of 2013_.

It reminded him of his own duties yet to be completed back at home. Really, he should have at least brought some of the reports to read over instead of fleeing in the night like a convicted felon. Not a creature to break bad habits, Antonio was a far cry from being done his year-end paperwork. He had yet to begin looking over his own fiscal summaries... had yet to crack open the cover, actually.

But as he dumped Lovino's pile onto the nearby mahogany desk and spared another long and indulged glance at his dear friend, Antonio knew that he deserved a break. Well, okay, maybe he didn't "deserve" one (he wasn't half as devoted to his job as Germany), but he certainly needed one. End of the year business had been keeping every nation on the edge of a razor blade. This year in particular had thrown curveball after curveball, what with the economy in its slump and the perilous existence of the European Union. Never his strong suit, politics had absorbed too much of Antonio's energy. Ukraine, Russia, Syria. There were too many countries in an uproar. The impetus might change its face decade to decade, but the discord was always the same.

Ultimately, Antonio and Lovino had seen very little of each other lately, and Antonio had grown sick of it. To make up for his lapse in willpower, he'd have his boss email him the folder on economic policies later. If he promised to get enough of it done, Antonio might just get the say-so to stay in Italy a few days more, and that was the most important objective. Paper work came every year; time with Lovino was precious.

Antonio's phone buzzed disruptively in his pocket. He answered it as quickly as he could, askance at the idea of waking Lovino, still disgruntled and angelic in sleep.

"Hola?" he whispered.

"_Ve, big brother Spain, I thought I felt you enter the country. You're here so often it's hard to tell sometimes. Surprising Lovino again?"_

Antonio blushed. "Actually, yes."

Feliciano hummed across the line, and Antonio could visualize his little smile. _"Not surprising. He likes your visits, you know? I think he looks forward to them. Do you still have a key to Lovino's apartment?"_

"He hasn't gotten around to taking it back yet."

_"I don't think he ever will," _Feliciano giggled. It was a tinkling bell sound, so very different from his brother's dry chuckles and rich laughs. For a moment, Antonio wondered if Feliciano was staying at their Italian villa in Milan or maybe Genoa. Or perhaps he was resting at their countryside estate in Naples. Unlike Lovino, who coveted his sanctum sanctorum in Rome, Feliciano was a free spirit, sliding from province to province like water.

"I hope not," Antonio grinned, glancing at Lovino's fluttering eyelids.

"_He wouldn't! Well, I just wanted to make sure you arrived safely, Tonio. I'm in the middle of cooking Ludwig's favorite."_

"Is Ludwig with you now?" To his left, Lovino let out a sleepy grunt, reminding him that he needed to chase Feliciano off the phone as kindly as possible.

"_Ve! Of course. He finished all his work days ago."_

"Well, say hello for me! It's been good talking to you, bye now."

_"Have fun! Hug Lovi for me!"_

The line went dead with a muffled click, and Antonio slid the cellular back into his pocket, all attention now honed in on the stirring Italian. His pink tongue flicked out to wet dry lips even before his delicate eyelids slid open. "Fuck," he muttered, ever eloquent in transition. "Tonio. What're you doing here?" Amber slits were glued in tired reproach to Antonio's face.

"Morning," he murmured softly, grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. God did he love Lovino. He couldn't deny it, not when the man looked like this, shrouded in golden light.

"It's practically eight at night," Lovino sighed, falling forward and out of his lolling position. "Is your boss going to send over your work shit?"

"Yeah." Well, he would have to because Antonio didn't have any plans to return home. "Can I stay for a few days?"

"Don't you always?" Lovino cracked his neck once on each side. A shiver raced down Antonio's spine. "I shouldn't have let you leave your fucking wardrobe in the goddamn guest room. I'm not a hotel, you know."

"I know," Antonio laughed, taking a seat on the couch, now unafraid of disturbing anyone. "But I love your apartment." _And you._

"Good taste," Lovino sighed, a deep breath pushing through his nose. He automatically held out a hand and Antonio grabbed it, pulling Lovino up to sit beside him on the couch. "All this paperwork fucking sucks," he groused, body slumping away from Antonio to rest against the arm. "I hate the end of the year. Hate it with a passion."

"Mmm." Antonio eyed Lovino's bare feet. They were enticingly close to his lap, as though Lovino meant to tease him with the possibility. "You look sore."

"I _feel _sore. I've been on my feet since six this fucking morning and only got home about an hour ago. The whole day can suck my ball- What're you- Oh _shit_. You're a saint," Lovino moaned as Antonio dug his warm thumbs into his left foot, massaging the tension out of the man's heels. "You don't need to do that, Toni, damn." Lovino made no efforts to take his feet away, though, instead draping his calves over Antonio's lap in perfect gratification.

"I don't mind," Antonio admitted, knuckles rolling the supple bones. "If it makes you feel better."

"Hell yeah it does. Magic fucking hands, I swear to God." Lovino relaxed deeper into the couch cushions.

When Antonio happily switched feet, Lovino chose to watch him work. The setting sun ignited Antonio's curls and painted his lovely cheeks a burnt orange. For once, he was concentrated, focus trained on the foot cradled in his lap. Both the look and the attention were impossibly endearing. The pucker of his lips was mesmerizing, so sinfully tantalizing that Lovino had to look away. Antonio always damned him.

Lovino had felt it, even in sleep, the minute that Antonio had landed in Italy. He always knew, even with the man's regularity that should have dulled his senses. Lovino could admit to himself that he paid extra attention to Antonio's comings and goings. And even now as papers piled up on their desks and meetings filled their schedules, even now Antonio chose to come visit him, despite the fact that Lovino was only an obstacle to Antonio's productivity.

"Thanks," he murmured to the ceiling, ten relaxed toes flexing.

Antonio visibly jumped, just a little shocked at the forwardness of the admission. It was so terribly mundane and sweet of Lovino to thank Antonio for something as simple as a massage. "You're welcome. I would do it for you any time."

"Any time, huh?"

"Yeah. I would do anything for you, Lovi" Antonio reminded him, eyes like liquid emerald, warm and deep. His long fingers traced circles around Lovino's ankle bones. It was rhythmic, but the dry pads tingled against Lovino's skin, a tiny electric shock that jolted his heart. "Anything in the whole world."

The moment felt suspended in time, every element hypnotizing and surreal. For one mind-numbing, exhilarating second, Lovino believed he had the courage to say anything, to do anything, even divulge his deepest desires. He pulled his feet from Antonio's lap and sat up, legs crossed. He faced Antonio's profile in the steadily darkening room.

Antonio turned to meet his gaze, neck leaning backwards to regard Lovino from an angle. "You okay?"

Stretching forward, Lovino found himself acting out on that reckless impulse. He brushed Antonio's hand in the dimness and made his breath hitch as the Italian played with the tips of the Spaniard's fingers, the whisper of skin on skin. "Italians are the best lovers, you know?" Lovino breathed, mouth forming a weighted risk he feared they would both regret. He knew _what _he was doing, knew _why _he was doing it as he lifted Antonio's heavy hand to press a kiss to his palm, but for the life of him, Lovino couldn't understand what had driven him to this act of declaration now. "Why do you always come here? Do you like teasing me?"

Antonio's voice was choked when he responded. "W-what?"

"Do you like teasing me, Toni? You think I don't see you watching me? Do you think I don't feel you the minute you arrive? It drives me nuts to be around you and have to pretend that this companionship is enough."

"What are you talking about?" Antonio gaped, breath short as Lovino's kisses moved along each finger and down to his wrist. Lovino was acting straight out of his deepest desires.

"I like this easy thing between us," Lovino whispered against quivering skin. "I like what we are, Antonio."

"I- I do, too-,"

"Don't say that," Lovino hissed, heart clenching, even as he recognized himself to be a hypocrite. "Do you have any idea how much I want to touch you? You rule my dreams, Fernández. I love making that version of you scream." Lovino's fingers tightened around Antonio's wrist. He could feel blood pounding frantically through the veins, urging him on. He leaned forward, so far forward that Antonio's breath caressed his chin. "I want to love you here," Lovino whispered, his heart exposed beyond recognition. He couldn't see the other man in this light, couldn't discern desire from disgust. Didn't want to.

Instead of pushing Lovino off, Antonio met him halfway. Lovino almost laughed when their kiss missed its mark; Antonio's lips fell against the edge of his jaw. But he worked his way up towards Lovino's ear, teeth scraping every so often.

Lovino grabbed Antonio's chin and pulled their mouths together in a bruising kiss, straddling the man's lap as he licked along his bottom lip. Both actions on Lovino's part bid Antonio to open his mouth, maybe in surprise, maybe in submission, Lovino didn't know. He took full advantage of it either way, tongue playing with Antonio's, running along every surface of his hot mouth.

"Now's your last chance to run for the hills, bastard." A string of saliva fell against Lovino's chin, and he leisurely wiped it away with the sleeve of his dress shirt.

Antonio just blinked owlishly at him, a little mussed, a little hazy. Lovino would kill to see such an expression invade those pretty green eyes more often. There was a fog of lust permeating the brain, and Antonio was lost in it.

The room was chilled, but Lovino's skin was on fire, and there was a burning in his groin that drove him to attack Antonio's neck and shoulders with dominating bites and soothing kisses. He almost didn't want to give the older man a chance to speak, a chance to push Lovino aside and scorn his advances. Instead, he aimed to befuddle his mind just a little more, and it was working. Lovino ravished the baby soft skin, reveling in every gasp and moan that was ripped breathily from parted lips.

He pressed his lips softly to Antonio's collar bone. "I'm not going to stop, Toni."

Antonio tensed and seemed to snap out of his spell.

Lovino quivered, nose tracing a vein and anchoring him to the soft peach fuzz behind Antonio's ear, wanting to be told no almost as much as he wanted to be accepted. If Antonio allowed this, if Antonio _welcomed _it, everything between them would change. They could never just be old friends after this. They would never simply be Spain and South Italy again.

"Stop talking, Lovi," Antonio finally croaked, tongue dashing forward to wet his lips. "We wouldn't be here if I wasn't head over heels for you."

Breath cascading forth in a relieved chuckle, Lovino's confidence picked itself up off the wooden floor. _He wants you._

Antonio tangled his fingers in auburn hair, and yearned to show Lovino just how much he wanted. "Kiss me."

Lovino complied too easily. As their lips danced once more, sensuous and desperate, tongues scalding and quick, Lovino's fingers un-pieced the puzzle of his button holes and released his skin for his partner's disposal, Antonio eagerly bunching the sleeves down his tightly coiled arms. Lips tore away from Lovino's stinging mouth and instead lowered to pay homage to his chest, to tempt deep moans into the winter air as Antonio sucked and lapped at his vulnerable throat.

Antonio pulled away, regarding Lovino through sweeping lashes. "I- I want that off," Lovino ordered, gesturing to Antonio's loose-fitting shirt. He didn't want to see billows of white fabric, he wanted to see shining skin, skin illuminated by the night lights of Rome.

Antonio's trousers were soon to follow, coming undone as quickly as Lovino's sanity. His hands made no waste of the time; they mapped and explored the plateaus of Spain, excited the network of Latin rivers under the scarred, heaving landscape of Antonio's chest. Gently, he rearranged their bodies so that Antonio could stretch out on the couch beneath him, kiss-bruised lips parted to breathe. He watched Lovino hover over him with enough faith to take the Italian's breath away. When had he ever deserved Antonio?

"You are so beautiful," he whispered reverently, leaning in close to kiss under Antonio's jaw and then the corner of his mouth. Confident fingers danced over his chest and found the Spaniard's stiff, sensitive nipples. "Tell me what you like."

Antonio cupped the back of his neck with warm hands. "I like _you_, Lovi."

"But..."

"I know you know how to lead. I want you to show me."

Smile returning, Lovino twisted and rolled the dusky buds while he leaned in to claim the Spaniard's mouth, lazy kissing giving way to something demanding and sensuous. This transformation of their relationship felt natural, like second-nature. The Italian somehow knew every pressure point on Antonio's body, every sensitive button that would make Antonio buck upwards in desire. It was so easy to string him up and then unwind him; bring him to the brink and then stave off his release.

"Lovi, Lovi, Lovi," Antonio gasped, groaning in appreciation when the Italian lowered his hips to grind their straining erections together.

The pleasure was insurmountable, a fiercely coiled tightness in Lovino's groin that drove him to press harder, go faster, tear off Antonio's boxers and take him deep. "How have we never done this before?" he growled roughly, thrusting against Antonio's clothed ass and making them both cry out.

"We were – ay! – pretty stupid," Antonio gasped, tipping his head back against the pillows. Lovino couldn't wait any longer; Antonio was ready and at the edge of his control.

"Take off your boxers."

As soon as Antonio needed to lift his hips to get completely naked, Lovino climbed off of him. He appreciated the whimper that stole across the room a little too much, watched the roguish glance that followed him for a little too long. His lips were curled like a wolf, his perfectly controlled body a mask for the thrumming desire within him. His jeans were too tight around his throbbing cock.

Leaving Antonio wanting on the couch, Lovino crossed to the desk near the open bay windows. The cool winter breeze surrounded his skin, the laughing shouts of his people emboldening his resolve. He was powerful and dark and alive with spirit. He was the embodiment of the lover, the soul of Southern Italia, the man behind the legends on _amore_. He was a warrior awakened by feeling, and he was bound to worship that love's worldly form.

He rifled through the desk drawer, fingers closing around his prize. He weighed the lube in his hand, cast one more impossibly contented look across his sprawling urban heart, and then returned to his very singular reason to breath. If Rome was his literal heart, Antonio was a close metaphorical second.

When Lovino settled between his legs, the man was already lying in wait for him, upper back flush against the couch, lower back arched into his hips. Antonio was as naked as the day he was born, shamelessly wanting, utterly desperate. His cock was pressed into Lovino's thigh, and his fingers sought immediate gratification in removing Lovino's pants. Lovino grit his teeth as his own manhood was finally freed and brushed teasingly by Antonio's nimble fingers.

Fisting Antonio's cock in one hand, Lovino popped open the lube with the other, eyes taking in every inch of the panting, squirming god beneath him.

"You are so damn sexy, my love," breathed Lovino's sweet Italian. Antonio either didn't understand or didn't hear, chest heaving as he kept himself in check.

Feeling generous, feeling wild and powerful, Lovino coated his first three fingers in the cool gel. Heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open to watch him. He released Antonio's dick in order to position the man's skewed legs, pushing them farther apart. Lovino was regretful of the darkness. He could only see shadows of Antonio at his most vulnerable, and it was a far cry from being able to drink in every detail (Antonio felt just the same, felt almost cheated).

Lovino spared few pleasantries slipping in the first finger. Antonio was a man of hot-blood, of that Lovino was sure. He had little fear of breaking his precious heart tonight. The second was followed by the third and only when his pointer was knuckle-deep in Antonio's ass, only when the man beneath him was rolling back to meet his fingers did Lovino find that one scream-inducing spot.

And did Antonio scream. His eyes shot open and broken Spanish tumbled from between quivering lips. Lovino growled throatily, blood rushing straight to his cock. God Antonio was sexy. He spread his fingers wide, the middle one stroking Antonio's prostate viciously and reducing him to a puddle of pleasure. Legs wrapped desperately around Lovino's waist, and he was gifted with the sight of pretty green eyes dark with lust and desire

He couldn't wait any longer, he _needed _Antonio integrally. He wrenched his fingers out. "Are you ready?" he demanded, nails digging into bucking hips.

"Yesyesyes," Antonio choked, arms reaching for Lovino, securing themselves behind the Italian's head. "Lovino, do it now."

Lovino had only ever been one to please. He positioned his twitching cock, smeared with precum, at Antonio's stretched and fluttering hole. "Jesus Christ," he breathed, pressing a shaky kiss to Antonio's shoulder. The tip of his cock was already over stimulated and he hadn't entered fully yet.

Lovino steadied his breath, swallowed his moans, and drew his attention once more to the man under him. Antonio's lovely eyes were screwed shut, and sweat dripped down from the arch of his eyebrow. The fingers that were tangled in the wispy hairs at the crown of Lovino's neck tightened, seeking any sort of satisfaction.

"Lovi," he panted, eyes opening just a slit. "Please, I want you, I want this. I _need _you _right now_."

Antonio's legs tightened around Lovino's slick waist, and his heels anchored in the indent above the kneeling man's ass. Antonio gave him a particularly rough squeeze, shoving himself towards Lovino's waiting cock. His smile was a tad feral, and Lovino was once more reminded of just who he was about to fuck.

There was no more hesitation. Lovino impaled Antonio in one rapid movement. He spared no grievances for the ex-empire. Antonio hardly seemed to need them; the second Lovino was balls deep his head was rolling back into the couch. They moaned aloud.

The Italian was in a dream he'd never believed possible. _Antonio_, his former boss and current friend, _Antonio_, the kingdom of Spain, the country of passion, was unhooking his bridle and allowing Lovino to take the lead.

He accentuated the offensive, slamming his hips against pliant muscle once, twice, three times to the cacophonous pleasure of his partner. Lovino pressed the flat of his palm into Antonio's arching chest to hold him still. He slid out dreadfully slowly only to reenter with blinding speed. He carried this rhythm relentlessly, milking the pleas and the pleasure.

"Tonio, turn over for me," he whispered, breathing becoming labored as hot sensation tightened in his groin. He slid out deliberately, rolling his hips downward to draw every last whimper from Antonio's throat.

Antonio, wonderfully foggy, complied without argument. As he was turning over, subtly jerking himself off when he thought Lovino wasn't looking, the Italian was struck with an idea. "Wait." Lovino found Antonio's sweaty fingers on the couch cushions and brought them up, leading Antonio like his arm were a leash. He positioned the other until he was on his knees with his cock pressed into the leather back of the couch and his head tilted towards the windows, Lovino prepped and aching at his flushed ass. There was no warning when Lovino slammed again into tight heat; there was only satisfaction as they continued the harried beat.

Antonio was beside himself, lost in the rippling, shuddering pleasure of Lovino hot and heavy inside, crying his approval with every sharp thrust. The lights from Lovino's city fell across the hard line of his jaw and the slope of his nose, illuminating his big green eyes with oranges and reds.

"I love you, Lovino," he gasped, pushing back on the Italian's cock. "_Te amo_. Please...!"

For Lovino, there was nothing but Antonio shuddering beneath him, nothing but the Spaniard's broken cries in his native language, the hand that crept backwards to hold his elbow. Antonio was glorious, silhouetted against the backdrop of _his _people, presence incredibly surreal. There was only Antonio in that moment, and there was only Antonio as Lovino pounded into velvet one final time.

He reached forward and jerked Antonio off with his fading thrusts. Cum poured into the greedy hole, and as Antonio joined him in orgasm, Lovino stole one final open-mouthed kiss.

"Holy shit." Lovino was draped over Antonio's spine, fingers scarring his hips, thighs flush together.

Antonio chuckled low in his throat, voice scratched and broken. His cum was all over the back of the couch, but he couldn't be bothered. "So articulate, Lovi." Antonio earned a half-hearted slap to his ass.

"Shush, you."

Lovino slid carefully from Antonio's still weakly fluttering hole and watched entranced as pearly ropes of cum stained trembling thighs. Lovino still couldn't comprehend that it was _his _cum laying claim to this ravishing Spaniard. "Hey," he said quietly, weak voice nearly lost in the thrum of the outside world. "_Caro. _Come to bed."

Disconnected, Antonio slid down the couch, eyelids already at half mast. His curls were plastered to his shining forehead, and he breathed lightly through his parted mouth.

"Don't fall asleep here. Can you walk? You'll be more comfortable upstairs," Lovino pressed. In truth, he was just as worn out, but obstinately unwilling to sleep anywhere that wasn't his own bed.

"I don't think I can climb all those stairs."

"Don't be a wuss." Lovino threaded their fingers together and gave Antonio a gentle tug. The Spaniard obeyed his commands like a sleepy puppy, stumbling once into Lovino's shoulders. He apologized with a lopsided grin and the easy action soothed Lovino's frantically beating heart.

He was still in shock over what he'd done. He'd taken Antonio – granted, with his permission – to a place they had never dared go in their relationship before. Things would be different now, he knew. But would they be for the better?

"Come on, Lovi," Antonio whispered, always too knowing when it came to Lovino's discomforts. "You're lagging behind, silly."

It was simpler than Lovino had feared maneuvering up to his loft. Antonio seemed to find the dregs of his energy when the master bed came into sight, and his enthusiastic collapse was more than cute, it was flattering.

"Wipe off your legs, Tonio." Lovino threw him a towel from the floor.

"What happened to being a gentleman, Lovi? Aren't you s'posed to clean me up?" His sweet voice was muffled by Egyptian cotton.

Lovino flushed red, and with his own trembling limbs, wrenched the towel from sleepy fingers. "Humph," was his only complaint as he caressed and cleaned to the gentle tune of Antonio's steadying breath, drawing out the after care.

"Lovino?"

The towel dropped back to the ground and the bed dipped as Lovino settled next to his prone lover. "Yes?"

"Will we… will we do that again, do you think?" Lovino knew Antonio's eyes were furrowed with worry lines.

"I damn well hope so. I mean… if you want to," Lovino whispered.

An arm snaked around his waist and a head settled below his chin. "I can't think of anything more I want, apart from maybe making love to _you_ next time." Antonio traced patterns on the Italian's hip and breathed in the post-sex smell of him. "God, I just love you so much, Lovi."

"Yeah… I love you, too." Lovino's cheeks lit fire, but not from shame. Loving Antonio was an organic extension of his existence. It was the beating of his heart and the ladder of his spine; it was the pulse of Rome and the coastline of Italy, and being held in Antonio's arms showed him that everything he cherished, cherished in kind.

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**Critiques, comments, and compliments are welcomed.**


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